


Seraphina, Seraphina

by januarywren



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Hermione Granger, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bittersweet, Confessions, Denial of Feelings, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hermione Granger Needs a Hug, Hermione Granger-centric, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, Muggle Life, Older Man/Younger Woman, POV Theodore Nott, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protectiveness, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Romance, Second War with Voldemort, Smut, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:20:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24535279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/januarywren/pseuds/januarywren
Summary: Theo knew that his witch believed everything in the world was good and true.It would suffocate her if she knew, just how terrible the world could be.(Did he want to show her the truth?)Eighth Year AU | The war left its mark on all of them.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Theodore Nott, Hermione Granger/Theodore Nott
Comments: 37
Kudos: 234





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [highlyintelligentblonde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/highlyintelligentblonde/gifts), [Elywyngirlie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elywyngirlie/gifts), [weestarmeggie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weestarmeggie/gifts).



> I originally wrote this as a fest piece that didn't work out - buuuut, I wanted to share it with all of you still! ❤
> 
> It's a little more angst-y than pieces I've written lately, a reflection of my headcanon for how Hermione and Theo's eighth year would go, I guess? I think the war would have changed everyone, at least to some degree...
> 
> The story ends on a lighter note though, I promise ( **also possible tw: non-graphic pet death/mourning** ). 
> 
> Thank you @highlyintelligentblonde for your help, you're such a nice person to talk to on Discord! And @elywyngirlie's writing is incredible, I still?? can't believe that you've read any of my work gnngldksfg. Both highlyintelligentblonde and elywyngirlie write wonderful work on ao3, absolutely worth checking out! 😩❤❤
> 
> And thank you to weestarmeggie - you're always there for me, and know the best memes to send over Tumblr. 😂❤ I'm glad to have become friends with you - you're always so sweet, and understanding. Your work is fantastic too (especially your tomione/dramione pieces....🥰!!).

Theo stirred as he felt the bed shift, and knew that his lover couldn’t sleep.

"Again?" Theo whispered and heard her whisper an apology for waking him. He moved to sit up, calling for the candles that filled the room to alight themselves. It was thrilling still for Theo to feel magic bend beneath his will, a feeling that he had learned to adore since childhood.

If anyone were honest, Theo thought, they would admit that Voldemort had terrified their world because they all had the _potential_ to be like him. Magic would swallow them whole if they allowed it, and more than one among them had willingly sacrificed their soul for it. (Perhaps that was why there were nights when he held her close to him, as the mark on his arm writhed and burned, as it called to him.)

“It’s strange, without Crooks here,” Hermione admitted, looking at her hands. “Every noise makes me think he’s going to come trotting through the door, and I made a spot for him here -“

He scooted up, resting his back against the mass of pillows, before pulling her close against him. “Oh sweetheart,” Theo murmured, drawing his cheek against her mass of dark curls.

The world after the war was a strange one, a mass of ‘social disintegration,’ as his father wrote, and one where everything that had once been right was wrong, and what was wrong was made right. Theo felt far from it all, when Hermione curled against his side, though he knew everything was different for her.

She felt and thought too much, a peculiar habit of Gryffindors, Theo observed. She was the worst of them all, with courage in her veins, and the absence of fear from her heart, when she felt that something wasn’t right.

It was thrilling to Theo then, that Hermione wanted him.

Their return to Hogwarts was heralded with deafening roars, the press filled with rumor and crows of delight, as the muggle-borns were celebrated and countless purebloods were attacked. Theo was one of the few to return to Hogwarts, while others, like Malfoy or Goyle, fled into marriage instead.

‘ _Muggles have something called a - ah, yes - a gap year_ ,” Zabini had written him, dark ink splattered across the page. ‘ _Mother thinks it best if I take one of those._ ’

Theo thought little of his fleeing friends, ones he had known since childhood.

He knew that he could step into the positions his father held early, as anxious as the Ministry was to usher in a new age under Kingsley. He could have a life outside of Hogwarts, one that was as private or as open as he wanted. For, Theo knew that the society they lived in would always remain fascinated with pureblood and their heritage, if not solely because of the galleons they possessed.

Yes, Theo knew who he was, and the sacred lineage behind him.

Yet he soon found that he knew Granger too.

It wasn’t loneliness that had Theo watch as crowds constantly formed around the know-it-all swot, but curiosity; his gaze intent as he watched her slip off to the library, or to the lake with her familiar at her heels. She was never without a quill in her hand and parchment in the other, unless her nose was buried in a book.

Theo was surprised to find that without the sainted one or the weasel, the celebrated, ‘brightest witch of their age,’ was tolerable. More than tolerable, if he was honest, something that he was often loath to be.

“ _Granger_ ," he addressed her one day when he found her in the Restricted Section and knew that he couldn't hide from her.

She startled, glancing over her shoulder -

With a look of fear in her eyes, a look that he had seen countless times during the war, and one that echoed throughout the crowded hallways of their school still. “Hello Nott,” she said simply, as if nothing had ever happened between them, as they chose opposite sides of the war. Hers had won, and the Golden Trio venerated, while his kind became far more welcomed in America, than in England. “ _You’ve been following me, haven’t you_?”

And he’d seen little reason to lie.

“ _I have_ ,” he admitted.

Only she hadn't asked him why not as he thought she would. She had an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, her search akin to a tick burrowing beneath one's skin.

It was the reason why Draco had been equally angered and fascinated by her, the muggle-born witch who treated professors and her supposed betters-by-blood with care, yet had furthered with reason still. Nothing could stop her, and nothing would, Theo acknowledged, not if the war itself hadn't changed her.

_Only, the witch had turned her head aside, and_ _hadn’t asked him why_ -

She’d continued to gather the tomes that she wanted, before moving to a table near the window, and said nothing more to him. He’d taken her silence for acceptance and had taken the seat across from her. He saw her collarbone beneath her blouse, and the dark circles beneath her eyes, ones that mirrored his own.

There was a twist inside his stomach, one that wanted her life to be better than his own.

She was the brightest witch of her age, a girl that was never meant to fall beside him. The war had decided their roles, and Theo found himself wanting to cling to that knowledge as surely as Lucius Malfoy had clung to his ancient titles and his grand estate. There were things that would never change, things that were meant to always stay the same.

Theo’s family had lost, the same as Hermione and her lot had won.

She should have ground his failure into his skin, searing he with her words and her looks, ones that he knew could burn down the world. Yet she invited him in and held his hands in hers as if she were free from her role, and he from his. It wasn’t meant to be.

Still -

His heart skipped a beat.

"Theo," Hermione mewed, in the same way, that she had when he escorted her to her room and had kissed her there, in the abandoned hallway. Any student who returned for their eighth-year had their own rooms, ones that were no longer hidden behind House lines. “Make it stop -“

She’d confessed to him after they were a tangle of limbs in the sheets, about the noise in her soul that never went away. It hissed and it snarled, making rage bubble beneath her skin. It drove her to make cuts in her palms; her fingernails digging until blood came, and he found himself wanting to kiss it away.

And so, Theo learned that her beast played well with his.

“I know what you need,” Theo said, his hand curling beneath her chin. He tipped her head up, her whiskey-colored eyes meeting his. “Trust me.”

She nodded her head, without breaking from their shared gaze. “I do,” she said, her tongue darting out to lick his finger. “I really do, Theo, and I -“

“ _I want you_.”

They were words that warmed his soul, ones that meant more to him than anything girls before her had ever said. Theo moved to place her beneath him, and in turn, straddled her. He took her hands in his and pinned them above her; whispering for her to keep her eyes on him.

She was soft and sweet against his harsh lines as he often fed her by hand in _their_ rooms. For his quarters were no longer his alone, as he’d opened his life to her, and the familiar that had adored her.

Crookshanks, Theo remembered, the same as he hadn’t forgotten the tears that streamed down his witch’s cheeks when her familiar had passed from his great age. They'd buried him near the Forbidden Forest, where the forget me not bloomed.

“Crooks loved you,” Theo said, brushing issues against her freckled cheeks, “the same as I do.”

Her soft cry turned into fevered moans as he rocked his hips against hers, his member slipping past her wet folds. Theo knew pleasure and he knew pain, and there was only one that he wanted to give her; as he dipped his head down to her breast. His tongue laved at her nipple before he suckled from it; the taste of her all that he could ask for. She was honey and absolution on his tongue, and he swallowed thickly.

There was trust between them as he took her; both of them knowing that their hearts were safe in the other’s hold. It was a bond that the world outside their door wouldn't understand, the same as how his family had reacted when he wrote that he wished to pursue her. Theo found that he wanted to keep the witch safe, above all things, and in his arms; her body made to fit in his hold.

“I’ve got you,” he said, allowing her nipple to slip from his mouth.

“Promise?” she asked, and he kissed her once more; their tongues entwining, and pleasured sighs becoming one. She was his to hold, and his to possess, and he gave himself to her in turn. He ground himself against her and hardened from her gasps, and the way that she trembled beneath his form.

“I promise,” Theo returned, and allowed his hold on her wrists to loosen, as he knew she was there in the present once more. Her gaze had lost its haunted look, and a smile tugged at her lips.

“More,” she wanted, and their joint pleasure was her reward.

She buckled beneath him as he thrust into her; her orgasm coming without warning. It was his name on her lips that he heard when she came, and her arms entwined around his neck, bringing him closer still, against her. “I’m here,” Theo cooed, his own orgasm taking his breath away.

He rolled off of her, not wanting to crush her beneath him; though there were times when he did, as she begged to have him near. He kept the memories of the war away from her, and the noise that haunted her ears; ones that he knew she wouldn’t forget. Nor would he, but nothing would keep him away from her.

“Goodnight, my sweet witch,” Theo whispered, tucking her curls behind her ear.

And as his witch drifted to sleep once more, Theo called for the gift he hid for her: a plush replica of the familiar that she had lost, one that he tucked against her side.


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Day 4 of Inventober (created by @girlandgeese on Tumblr): Ring
> 
> Inspiration came out of nowhere for this one, and it makes me so happy to update this! It's a softer chapter than the first one, and I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> Thank you so much for supporting my work - your comments, kudos, bookmarks, etc. mean the world to me. Your support makes every day one that I enjoy. Thank you! 💜🤍

Theo’s proposal came on a quiet, rainy day.

They had a small flat tucked away in London, with windows that overlooked the crowded streets, and neighbors on the side of their bedroom wall. They could hear them when they sang drunken karaoke during the night, and when they fought with each other during the day.

At times, Hermione banged on the wall with a broom before Theo invited her to walk to the park nearby. There was a bench they loved there, one beneath a great oak tree that allowed just enough sunlight for them to read, while a gentle breeze danced around them.

Muggles never seemed to mind, passing them by without a whispered comment, or the flash of a camera. They could live as they wished, finding their place in the Muggle world as they had never found in the Wizarding world. The end of the war carried change with it, but society refused to give in all matters.

Theo often thought of the plans he had of whisking Hermione away to the Muggle world, one where their past wouldn’t follow, and the press would stay away. He hadn’t known, just two years before, what it would mean to sign his inheritance away.

He wasn’t a Nott anymore; his name struck from the family tree, and his portrait turned to ashes in the roaring fireplace. His mother had cursed him while his father looked on with a cold gaze.

Even then, his thoughts were only filled with Hermione.

He knew how muggle-born and pure-bloods bled the same during the war; memories of dark crimson splattered over the idyllic lawns of Hogwarts stalking his dreams. He knew as others couldn’t admit – would never admit – that he bled the same as Hermione, and Harry Potter, and the rest of the lot.

They were utterly the same.

His lineage was a joke, the same kind that Pansy told; biting and sharp, with little sweetness to soften them. Theo had never imagined that he wouldn’t be able to purchase a cottage in the countryside, one with acreage for riding and creating a garden with its ingredients planted for potions alone, and a glistening pond filled with ducks and fish and a mermaid, if he could lure one away.

He couldn’t imagine that he wouldn’t be able to give Hermione the library of her dreams, one with endless rows of shelves waiting to be filled with ancient tomes and classic muggle novels. He wanted to sit beside her on cold nights, with a fire roaring before them, and a half-kneazle curled in-between them.

He wanted all of this and more –

He wished for more, he dreamed for more, and when he saw the few coffers that filled his account, Theo knew his childhood was over. He was an adult then, one straggling to his feet with his partner beside him.

No –

Hermione was more than his partner, she was his love, and if she agreed, she would be his wife in every sense of the word. It didn’t matter that her bras were next to his socks or the fact their toothbrushes shared the same cup. He couldn’t forget everything he learned growing up, he couldn’t imagine her without a ring on her finger, and their magic entwined around the other.

He wanted the world to know that she was his, the same as he was hers.

_Always_ –

The ring that hid in his pocket had never belonged to his mother or his grandmother or his great-grandmother. It had no curse attached nor blessing woven into its gold, and if Theo were a different sort, he would have wept for it.

Cut off from the world he left behind, Theo had no inheritance to share with her and was struggling to find his feet in the Muggle world. While Hermione took a position as a junior librarian, Theo toyed with the idea of adding a Floo to their flat.

(Would she accept it? Could she?)

In the Wizarding world, he had contacts still, ones who could need his skills with Charms. The idea had merit, and Theo knew that he could give Hermione far more than if he stayed completely in the Muggle world – where he only had himself, and little to give her.

Blaise, of all people, had sent him the money to buy the ring, though Theo had never asked him to. There were lines he would never cross – lines he would never dream of crossing – though he should have trusted Blaise would read between the lines of his letter.

‘ _Every day, I wonder how she could believe in me_ – ‘

Theo wrote, the words stark and bold across the page.

They were words that none of his kind would ever say, they were words that would have made his father stone-faced and his mother turn her face away in shame. He was meant for greatness, they believed he was meant for more than a muggle-born witch and a flat in London.

With every letter he wrote, he knew that he was cutting free from the past, and edging into the future; a new, different future that none would have predicted for him. He wasn’t the pure-blood son that clung to ideals any longer, he wasn’t like Draco or Blaise, or even Pansy who claimed to live as she wished. He turned his back on only world he had known, a world that was right and made perfect sense until the war came.

Once, Theo would have agreed with his mother, his father, and the whole lot of them.

He was proud of his lineage, as all pure-blooded children were. There was no one else in the world like him, there was no one that could rival him until he married, and his wife produced heirs. The pride instilled in him from his very name was something no half-blood or muggle-born could understand, even if they had attempted to.

There was a line between the classes, a division in magic itself, pure-blood families claimed. It was magic that originally blessed its chosen familial lines, its sacred familial lines. It was a decision that could never be undone, even if the future unraveled entirely around them.

It was an ideal that was lost upon Theo then.

Hermione deserved the magic within her more than anyone he had ever known. She was fearless and brave, as her House dictated, yet smarter than all the Weasleys combined. There were moments during the war when Theo wretched across his sheets, with thoughts that he would have to duel her – or any of his peers, regardless of the House they were sorted into.

They were child soldiers, as their lords demanded, waving sticks at one another. Only their sticks were sharp and poisoned with their words – with their magic, as they struck one another. It was more than a game, it was life and death, and Theo prayed more than once that the Golden Trio would win.

(They had and he lost – to his family’s tears and his hysterical laughter.)

He fumbled with the ring in his pocket – their future made entwined with a thin, gold band and an oval cut sapphire surrounded by tiny diamonds. The words stuck to the tip of his tongue, and he swallowed tautly.

She turned to face him, wearing yellow, rubber gloves with bubbles gracing her cheek. It was a sight that Theo would have never been able to imagine less than two years prior, with him proposing as the love of his life did the dishes.

Truth be told, Theo never thought of love. Few pure-bloods did, as they knew marriage was another contract, one that ensured any number of things; protection, wealth, power, even fame if one so desired. He would gain nothing but love if he married Hermione.

He found that was enough, no – her love was more than enough, as Theo had never felt as warm as he was when he was with her. He wanted to give her everything she wanted, everything she dreamed of, and keep the world at their door. He wanted everything that she had to give, every word and every touch that she graced upon him, and how she loved him in turn.

And in their flat that was tucked away from the world, they could indulge in their thoughts and their feelings. She called him by his name as he called her by hers as if there were few secrets between them, and they had always seen the other's soul. Perhaps they had, Theo reflected, during their days at Hogwarts when the war left them scarred and frightened, a fitting legacy for child soldiers.

Now, they could have more.

They could _be_ more.

Theo’s eyes rose to meet hers, and his lips quirked into a familiar smile. He wanted this, he wanted her; more than he’d wanted anything before. “Will you marry me, Hermione?”

She blinked once, twice, again –

“Yes,” she whispered, before launching herself at him. “Yes, yes, _yes_ – “

And there in the kitchen, Theo swept her off her feet and swung her around. They were mad with joy, and laughter as if they were drunk on the love that flowed between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Grammarly and Metalvenomludens7, thank you! 🦝🖤


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished my finals early and have an extra long break (almost two weeks off!). I'm excited to have time to write, as well as tackle weird, little projects that have added up...like organizing my sock drawer, and going through the linen closet. (Fascinating, I know! 🤣) 
> 
> Thank you for reading, it truly means the world to me! I always enjoy hearing from you, and read every comment and DM. Happy spooky month (I hope you're all safe and sound!). 🍂🧡🎃

Hermione couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed.

Was it when Theo told her that Blaise was in stitches over Ron vomiting up slugs, and insisted on casting the same spell on Draco? Or the story of how Pansy had insisted on parading around the dorms in a pair of six-inch high heels, only for someone (‘Astoria,’ Theo hinted, knowing there was more to the demure heiress) had turned them into chocolate? No one had been able to ignore Pansy as she stormed throughout the Slytherin common room, with a trail of melted chocolate behind her, as she went to find _Snape_ of all people –

No, Hermione thought, for all that Slytherin had turned out to mimic Gryffindor's antics, she hadn't laughed at those stories. There was a part of her that oozed and burned still, a wound that lingered in her chest and sank into her rib cage. It was a feeling that she couldn't shake, though she could pretend it wasn't there when Theo held her close and combed his fingers through her hair.

‘ _I won’t leave you_ ,’ his touch said – ‘ _I never will, sweetheart, unless you ask me to_.’

And she hoped that he knew she said it back, when she chastely kissed his temple, or when she entangled her hands with his, as she straddled him. There were some things that neither of them would ever say – there were things they could never say – that they wanted their actions to whisper instead. They would never be children again, free, and untethered; with laughter on their lips and warmth in their hearts.

Only as Hermione surveyed the mountains of candy strewed across their small dining room table, she felt words rise to the tip of her tongue. They were words without thought, words that demanded to spring free. She let them.

“You bought all of this…for us?” she asked, nodding to the brightly colored wrappers. It was a dream from her childhood, as she often wished for candy in place of dental floss and apple slices for Halloween. Sitting at the table was Theo, who gave her a sheepish smile and tugged at his tie.

“A scary movie – “

“Theo – “

“Popcorn,” Theo continued, “and enough candy to make your teeth fall out is what Halloween is all about, isn’t it?” he asked, raising his eyebrow.

Hermione felt her lips twitch as she moved to sit in his lap. He wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his head against her shoulder. “My parents would have a nightmare if they saw how much candy was here,” Hermione said, and she felt as her stomach twisted.

There was pain in remembering, the same as there was pleasure. She didn't want to forget the world that she came from, nor the world where magic was real, the same as monsters were. She wanted to remember the good and the bad, and everything in-between until she would never let go of it.

“I’m sure they would understand,” Theo teased. Truthfully, he _had_ been a bit of a child at the store, yet he couldn’t help it! “Who could resist a gooey, marshmallow filled chocolate chip cookie? Or an apple coated in caramel and nuts?”

“An apple a day keeps the doctor away,” Hermione laughed, the sound strange to her ears. Theo met her wide-eyed gaze with his appraising one and smiled in return.

“Exactly,” he agreed, having learned more than one muggle saying. He found that he wanted to be apart of Hermione’s world, the same as he wanted her to know the best of his.

Since taking a position as a Charm worker, he found his tensions eased, and their flat was soon overflowing with tomes and sugar quills and parchment paper with his notes hastily scrawled across them. He spent most of his workday inside their flat, sending documents back and forth through the Floo, and acquired a small and quiet owl that patiently waited at their window.

It was a life his parents, as well as his peers, would have found unimaginable, and beyond fathomable. Yet every day when Theo awoke with Hermione beside him, he knew that it was the life that he wanted, and the life that he had asked for. There was joy in the understanding silence between them, the same as there was happiness in their small flat.

(Still, Theo wished for more.)

He wanted to see Hermione smile and hear her laugh as if she were as free as a child once more. He wanted her to revel in his touch and cuddle close against him, without an ache in her heart. It wasn't right, it wasn't wrong, they were thoughts of his that spun into dreams of sex and gorgeous laughter.

He wanted all of that and more.

“How many pieces have you eaten?” Hermione asked, kissing the tip of his nose. He had a freckle near his eyebrow that she kissed too; and she felt as he smiled against her chin. “You’ll have to brush your teeth before bed and floss too – “

“Yes, Mother,” Theo chuckled at her bossy tone, one that he liked far more than he would admit to. He knew, perhaps more than Harry or Ron ever had, that her bossiness came from caring about him; and he could always tease her out of it, or snog her senseless if it became too much. He was patient with her in ways that _her_ boys never were, and he couldn’t help but feel proud because of it.

There was an affection between them that was slowly developing, one that was sweet and warm, and lighter than it had ever been before. They could never be who they were, no, but they could be more.

The war hadn’t taken everything from them, for they had each other; a realization that was beginning to sink in. They were free to love, the same as they were free to live.

"Would it be fair to say that I never want October to end?" Theo asked, cradling his love's cheek in his hand. "There are so many sweets at the store, Honey Dukes simply can't compare."

“I used to dream of running away as a child,” Hermione admitted, her cheeks turning pink. “Only for a night or two and then I’d return home…there was a café near our home that would make cakes and cookies as large as Hagrid’s dinner and fill their displays with them. They were as large as Hagrid’s dinner, even the brownies and pudding cups – “

Theo hummed, his expression turning thoughtful. “Is the café still around? We could make a trip there…”

“What about all of this?” Hermione asked, nodding to the sugary haul covering their table. It was a sight that her parents would have whisked her away from, filling her head with tales of rotting teeth and children that were forced to wear dentures before their time.

And Hermione would have agreed with her parents, as she almost always did, yet even she couldn’t stifle every craving, as she remembered how delicious sugar quills were as they melted on her tongue.

“We can always use more.”

“Theo!”

He laughed at her outraged tone, rising to his feet before sweeping her up and into his arms. “What if I give you a very, very sweet treat?” he asked, peppering kisses across her flushed cheeks as she realized his innuendo. “It’s one that I think you’ll like _enormously_.”

They both knew that she would say yes, as she buried her face against his collar and whispered ‘yes’. There was nothing that compared to the gilded tongue of a Slytherin –

Nor did anything compare to the feel of the warmth that emanated from him, one that sank into her very bones. It was something Hermione would never tell him, as she felt her pain recede and ached to nuzzle him as if she were a cat. It was a pain that felt too private to share, yet even if she tried, she wouldn’t have known the words to say.

She was grieving the same as she was living, for the war had its talons in her still. She couldn’t forget the heady taste of desperation and sin, as she remembered the blur of faces and the cries that ranged inside her ears. She would never know the names of those she had wounded and even killed during the war, and it was a shame that made her want to weep for days upon end.

Shame and guilt and grief were tangled inside her, the same as she felt love for the man that carried her and the fact that he was _good_. There were secrets neither would share, words that would never be said, and memories that would remain sealed.

Yet there was a world with Theo that she had never known before, a world that she wanted to explore, and truly live in. It was a world that made her want to be brave again, and if Hermione had shared this with Theo, she would have found that he felt the same.

“ _I want to give you the world_ ,” Theo would say, “ _the same as I want to know all of you and the world that you cherish_.”

They both wanted to be whole, the same as they wanted the world around them to be real, as it was before the war had come to their door. A world that, for all the uncertainty and hate, they could enjoy the silly comforts of Halloween and sweets in.

As Theo laid her on the table, with piles of candy around her and hooked her legs over his shoulders, Hermione voiced the sole truth she could admit. “Taste me, Theo – “

“ _I’m yours_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Grammarly and Metalvenomludens7, thank you! 🦝🖤

**Author's Note:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Grammarly 🦝🖤


End file.
